


The Kind of Love of Which I Speak

by theatretechlesbian



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Content warnings in end notes, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, M/M, Minor Injuries, Nightmares, Nonbinary Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), They/Them Pronouns for Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, mild car accident, oohooh a scottish safehouse fic? in my ao3? its more likely than you think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29362443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theatretechlesbian/pseuds/theatretechlesbian
Summary: "He didn't wake with a start, or in a cold sweat, as Jon so often did. Martin simply opened his eyes, heart rate steady, and saw the room. It wasn't all that different from being asleep. The window must have been left open, the mists that rolled on the nearby fields had invaded their room, covering the floor. Maybe it was Jon who left the window open. Wait, Jon? "Or, Martin has a nightmare and leaves the cottage, Jon wakes up alone and panics.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood
Comments: 4
Kudos: 79





	The Kind of Love of Which I Speak

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Hypothermia, Mild Injury and Blood, Mild Car Accident, Nightmares, Panicking/Anxiety  
> Full Content Warning in the End Notes.
> 
> Title from 'This Will End' by The Oh Hellos

_Somehow, the air surrounding him is both empty and utterly suffocating. The fog is clinging to his lungs, and Martin can't truly discern whether the fog is crawling inside him, or trying to get out. The ground is sharp beneath his bare feet, and there is a muffled crunch of gravel and stone with every step he takes. And he is stepping, walking somewhere. He doesn't know where. He thinks he might have known at one point, but not anymore. The fog saw to that._   
_Somewhere in the shadows, there is something moving. It's slow, and Martin could probably run away. He doesn't._   
_It gets closer and closer, the mist dispelling slightly to reveal something humanoid, tall and imposing. Martin is scared, or at least, he thinks he is. Emotions are difficult to feel through the coldness that seemed to seep through his clothes, into his flesh and bones._   
_Peter Lukas shows his face, and Martin wakes up._

He didn't wake with a start, or in a cold sweat, as Jon so often did. Martin simply opened his eyes, heart rate steady, and saw the room. It wasn't all that different from being asleep. The window must have been left open, the mists that rolled on the nearby fields had invaded their room, covering the floor. Maybe it was Jon who left the window open. Wait, Jon? The name stirred something in Martin, and he turned over idly to see Jon lying next to him, sleeping soundly. Something in his brain is talking about waking them up, talking to them, but the thoughts currently piloting Martin's mind can't think of a worse course of action. Certainly, somewhere within him, there is an acknowledgement that Jon is there, but any thought of them was manipulated and distorted. 

_Wake them up, they'll help you, they love you_

_Or they might just leave you, like the others. They've done it before, and they'd be right to do it again. What are you to them, really?_

It's these thoughts that prompt Martin to stand, and he quietly but deliberately removed the quilt and walked out of the room. The floorboards of the safehouse had a tendency to creak, but as Martin made his way through the hallway, there was not a single sound except the distant noise of waves lapping against some faraway shore. He carefully closed the front door behind him, the harsh chill of the night leaving his bare legs numb. He didn't know where he was going, only that he needed to leave. 

He took a couple of steps before stopping. In front of him was the car they'd driven up in. Martin didn't remember the journey, in fact, when he tried to think of it, he finds he can't remember much at all. Just that he needed to leave.

There was something in his hand, he realised. It's cold, but so is he. _Car keys_ , some errant part of his mind supplies. He wandered to the other side of the vehicle, got in, and started to drive.

He didn't know how long he had been driving, and he didn't know how much time had passed since the car stopped. Did it stop by itself, or did he crash? Everything was so difficult to see, difficult to feel. Martin felt like he was clutching at nothingness, trying to catch steam with a net. He was desperate for sensation but he couldn't feel a thing. The lack of stimulation was overwhelming, and that sudden urge to go, to isolate, to get away was coming back in full force.

He abandoned the car, and began to walk away from it. He knew that the grass beneath his feet should be wet, dewy and cold, but it felt like gravel. He walked and walked until he didn't know where he was anymore, or who he was.

* * *

Jon woke up suddenly, shivering and alone. The space next to them was cold, which wasn't unusual. With what the two of them have been through, it wasn't surprising that Jon and Martin had nightmares fairly regularly. The fact that the lights were off in the hallway unsettled Jon. With a sigh, they got up and gingerly made their way to the kitchen, where Martin was most often found after a nightmare, hands clasped around a warm mug. 

The room was empty, and the sight made Jon's stomach drop. Trying to not let anxiety overwhelm them, they took a deep breath and methodically checked the cottage, hoping to find Martin tucked away in a corner.

He was not.

Jon's heart was beginning to pound in their ears, and they stumbled outside. It was bloody cold, and, Jon noticed with alarm, the car was gone. Martin had taken the car. He could have gone anywhere, Jon had no idea how long ago he'd left. Jon's thoughts were racing, _what if he's gone back What if he's gone back to the What if he's gone back to the **Lonely?**_

They stop, forcibly clearing their mind for a moment. Panicking would not help them in finding Martin. They grabbed their coat, threw on some shoes, and walked back outside into the darkness.

Jon wanted so desperately to just Know where Martin was, but that was a boundary that they didn't want to cross. They knew that Martin didn't like being Known, even the little things that sometimes just popped into Jon's brain. Jon couldn't say they blamed him. So, the old-fashioned way it was.

The Eye wasn't particularly pleased with their decision, plying Jon with missing persons statistics and the knowledge of just how easy it was to die from exposure and hypothermia. They followed the dirt track away from the house, the only place Martin could have gone in the car. They were starting to wish they'd brought a torch.

The track stretched out in front of them, seeming so much longer at this time of night. The trees either side of the road blocked out most of the sky, but Jon knew without seeing that the sky was not black and starry, but instead a dark grey, cloudy and moonless. They wouldn't have seen the moon tonight anyway, it was a new moon.

Jon tried to ignore the fact that the Eye had told them that. It had a tendency to do that more recently. Sending little factoids into their brain without a second thought, and it worried Jon that they often didn't even notice it. Martin would be talking about something from his childhood, and Jon would make an off-hand comment about something they couldn't possibly have known, leading to a strange stare from Martin. Jon hated it, the Knowing, and Martin's reaction every time.

They hadn't been walking long before they found the car, a cheap little silver thing that Jon Knows everything about, from the alcoholism of its first owner, to the amount of rust on its chassis. They Know that Martin picked the car up cheap from some dodgy-looking man, just so he had something to drive in case he needed to see his mother in an emergency. They Know that Martin had only used the car once before she died. They Know that she died from-

"Fuck's sake." Jon muttered under their breath, shaking their head as if it would rid themselves of the never-ending stream of information. The car was obviously damaged, bonnet crunched into a particularly sturdy tree, but it wasn't irreparably harmed. The driver's side door had been left open, and the dew was beginning to settle onto the dashboard and the seats. The keys were still in the ignition. Martin had just...left it there.

That urge to just Know Martin became stronger, as with every movement Jon made, they seemed to be further and further away. Jon closed their eyes, trying to keep calm, stop their racing heart and short breath. It would have been fine, they would have managed, if they had not opened their eyes moments later, only to see the spots blood on the battered steering wheel. The sight hit Jon like a punch to the gut.

Their mind went into overdrive, and they began to stagger to the neighbouring field. Jon couldn't really control it now, anxiety having eroded any resolve against the Beholding. They could See Martin and it hurt. He was surrounded by a fog that filled Jon's brain with static that was too loud, too much. They weren't going to stop now. 

They kept walking blindly, not seeing the field around them, but instead judging the distance by the thickness of the smoke around them. Jon didn't even notice that they were screaming Martin's name, over and over again.  
But they did notice a soft voice, impassive and quiet.

"Jon?"

Martin was knelt on the ground in front of Jon. Kneeling as he was, Martin was still more than half of Jon's height, but in this instance, he looked so small. There was blood running steadily from his nose, and Jon could see the redness and faint bruising beginning to rise up around his eyes and forehead. Jon couldn't stop themselves, striding forward and cupping Martin's face in their hands. He was freezing.

Recognition flashed in Martin's eyes, and the next time he spoke, the apathy was gone, replaced with fear.

"Where am I?"

Something broke in Jon's heart at that. "You're safe, you're safe, I'm right here." They were babbling, trying not to let their anxiety taint the comfort they were trying to give. Martin was so good at this, murmuring comforting words after a particularly bad panic attack or flashback. Jon felt barren in comparison, as neither accepting nor giving comfort had ever come naturally to them. They had to do their best now, though. For Martin.

They grabbed his shivering hands and pulled him upwards. Martin was cold, far too cold. Jon shed their coat, placing it around Martin's shoulders and lamenting, not for the first time, their short stature. The coat barely covered Martin's arms, but it was all Jon had. They let out a quiet curse at their lack of readiness, _You could have brought his coat, or a blanket!_

The two of them slowly made their way back to the cottage, the dark fog following them incessantly. Martin kept asking where he was, what was happened, his words slurring slightly and sounding painfully small.   
Jon had held him up the whole journey back to the cottage, keeping Martin's hand in theirs. They let go though, fumbling with keys to open the door. It'd barely been a second, but it was too much.

"Please, please don't leave me. I don't want it, I don't want to be alone, it, it's too much, please don't-" Every panicked and shaky word from Martin's mouth felt like a needle in Jon's heart. It wasn't quick enough, but the key was in and the front door swung gently open. Jon ushered Martin inside, a firm grip on his hand and stretching out to grab the spare blanket from the dresser as they went.

The two of them sat on the sofa for a moment, clinging to each other. Jon was still panicking, Martin was cold and visibly paler in the light of the living room, his lips and fingertips retaining that blueish tinge that Jon had wished would go away with warmth. His nose had stopped bleeding, but the blood was still on his face, over his lips and on his neck. They didn't want it to, but Jon's anxieties allowed the Eye to interject.

_33.7°C_

Martin's temperature was low, far too low. They didn't want to leave Martin, but they would have to. They inhaled deeply, knowing that the next few minutes would not be enjoyable. "Listen, darling, can you hear me?"   
Martin lifted his head towards Jon, nodding ever so slightly and looking at them with round but glassy eyes. Jon took this as affirmation and continued. "We need to warm you up, which means I need to go for a second, just a second. I'll keep talking, so you know I'm here. I'm not leaving you." 

Martin's eyes widened at that, and Jon was worried that Martin wasn't understanding them, but after a moment, he nodded again, with more certainty this time. Jon removed themselves gingerly from Martin's arms, and practically ran to the bedroom, scooping up the quilt. They kept talking, narrating what they were doing and peppering their words with what little comforts they could offer. Jon wrapped Martin in the quilt, and, staying in his eye line, walked to the kitchen to grab a wet cloth and put the kettle on. A warm drink would do them both good, and Jon wanted to get the blood off Martin's face. The sight was a shade too similar to some of Jon's nightmares, so the quicker their partner was cleaned up, the better.

The kettle seemed to take longer than it ever had to boil, Jon was wringing their hands by the time it rumbled and clicked off. On the flip side, it was the quickest that they had ever made a cup of tea. It probably wasn't going to be the best, but right now Martin needed something warm and sweet, not something perfectly brewed and scientifically proportioned. 

Mugs in hand, Jon returned to the sofa, still talking about the tea, and how they remembered the mug that their grandmother bought them when they were twelve. They retrieved the damp cloth and the hand towel they'd picked up, and began to gently wash Martin's face, drying each bit as soon as the blood was gone. That blue tinge was starting to fade, although the bruising from where Martin had crashed the car was instead picking up, his brow bone turning a dark purple. The blood did not take long to clean, and once it was done, Martin leaned into Jon immediately. They placed their arm around his shoulders as best they could with the quilt in the way, and that was how the two of them stayed for the next couple of hours. Jon was doing their best to talk nonsense, to keep Martin awake, and occasionally prompting him to drink his tea.

Jon knew that Martin was coming back into himself when they left to make a second cup, and Martin scrunched his nose at the taste.

"What happened tonight? Can you tell me?" Jon asked, tentative and with their voice kept low. 

Martin sighed, clutching the warm mug to his chest and snuggling further into the quilt and Jon. "I had...I had a nightmare, and I know, I _know_ we promised to wake each other up, and I tried to make myself but I just. Couldn't. It was so cold, and the fog was there, it was so difficult to see, I couldn't see you. So I had to leave, because if I didn't leave then, then-"

There was a crack in his voice, and Jon realised that there were tears running down Martin's face. They grabbed the towel and wiped them away, but didn't interrupt. Martin sucked in a shaky breath and continued. "If I didn't leave then you would. And then I was back there, on that, that fucking beach! Just by myself. Alone."

Martin's hand reached out blindly from the quilt, and Jon took it gladly. "I don't want to be alone, Jon. I don't want..." Martin trailed off, a sob catching in his throat.

Jon moved ever so slightly, curling around Martin and pressing a light kiss to his forehead. "I know, darling, I know. I won't leave you, Martin. Not ever. For as long as I'm living, for as long as you want me here. I'm not going anywhere."

Martin gave a little half-smile at that, rubbing the remaining tears from his eyes and taking a sharp breath when he put too much pressure on the bruises. He mumbled something about _stupid trees and their stupid trunks_ , and tucked his head back into Jon's chest.

It was a couple hours later, when Martin's temperature was back to normal and he was in that grey area between sleep and wake, that Jon looked down at their partner, and realised just how much they love him. The worry and the adrenaline from the night had completely left them, and Jon was exhausted. But, as the room began to light up, sun rising gently and filtering through the window, Jon knew they wouldn't trade it for the world.

**Author's Note:**

> CW:  
> Hypothermia - Martin walks in unsuitable clothing in the Scottish Countryside in the middle of the night, has hypothermia. Jon does their best to alleviate and treat him.  
> Nightmares - non-graphic nightmare of Martin's depicting the Lonely.  
> Mild Car Accident - Martin crashes the car into a tree as a very low speed. No graphic description of the car crash.  
> Mild Injury and Blood - Martin has bruising and a nosebleed from the car crash.  
> Panicking/Anxiety - Jon panics when they wake up alone, and when they find the car. Martin panics and requests not to be left alone.


End file.
